The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 58: Revenant Fang

Chapter 58: Chapter 58: Revenant Fang

The room was quiet.

Too quiet, maybe—but Noel preferred it that way. A single mana lamp glowed low on his desk, casting pale light across the maps, notes, and the corner where Revenant Fang rested against the wall.

He sat on the edge of his bed, half-dressed, one glove loose at his wrist.

The status window hovered silently in front of him, pulsing faintly in the dark.

[Item Identified]

Name: Revenant Fang

Type: Weapon – Sword

Grade: Unique (Awakened)

Description: A relic blade passed down in the Thorne bloodline. Once meant for a forgotten son. Resonates with souls bound to second chances.

Status: Bound to User – Noel Thorne

Trait: Increases clarity under life-threatening pressure. Evolves under extreme stress.

Noel frowned.

He read it again.

"Grade: Unique... Awakened."

That hadn’t been there before.

He remembered exactly what it used to say—??? (Unawakened). Mysterious. Undefined.

Now it had form.

Now it had declared itself.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes narrowing.

’So it finally woke up.’

The trait was the same. But the sword... wasn’t.

It sat by the wall like always—but the air around it felt denser now. Like it had something to say. Something to show.

He stood and walked over to it.

Lifted the blade slowly, deliberately.

It didn’t hum.

Didn’t glow.

But the moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, a cold clarity settled behind his eyes.

Not magic.

Memory.

The tunnels felt narrower tonight.

Noel moved through them like always—hood up, steps measured, cloak trailing behind him—but the silence felt different. It wasn’t the usual emptiness.

It was anticipation.

He adjusted the strap across his shoulder, letting Revenant Fang rest closer to his back. The sword didn’t hum. It didn’t pulse with mana like a bonded artifact.

But he felt it.

The change.

He didn’t need to look at the window again to know it was real. The moment his fingers had closed around the hilt, something shifted in the air—like the sword had finally opened its eyes.

’You were never dead. Just waiting.’

The weight hadn’t changed.

But the way it sat in his hand—balanced, expectant—made every step feel heavier.

As he emerged from the tunnel mouth and stepped into the trees, moonlight spilled across the moss and rock. Wind brushed the edge of his cloak.

He looked down at the sword for a moment.

’Awakened... So show me what you can do, you beautiful thing hehehehe.’

He walked into the Hollow without slowing.

The first creature appeared ten minutes into the hunt.

Noel didn’t flinch when he heard the scrape of claws against stone—he recognized the sound before he saw the shape. A Vein Crawler, its segmented body slithering across the edge of a ledge above him, pulsing with dim violet light under its cracked shell.

He didn’t cast.

Didn’t prepare.

He drew Revenant Fang.

And moved.

He stepped to the right as the creature dropped, blade already rising in a diagonal arc.

The strike was smooth.

Too smooth.

It didn’t feel like one of his own.

Noel had fought dozens of these things—he knew their rhythms, their angles, their blind spots. But this wasn’t reflex or prediction.

It was instruction.

His foot placement.

His grip.

Even the rotation of his wrist—precise, economical, lethal.

The blade bit through the beast’s underbelly, split it open in one motion. It hit the ground and didn’t move again.

Noel stood still.

Didn’t breathe.

’That... wasn’t mke, what just happened?’

He turned slowly, scanning the terrain.

No one.

No sound.

The Hollow felt empty.

But the blade in his hand was warm.

Not with heat.

With something deeper.

The Hollow was quiet again.

Too quiet.

Noel stood over the corpse of the Vein Crawler, blade still dripping, but he didn’t move. Something felt off—like the moment after lightning, when your ears ring and the air doesn’t feel quite real.

Then he saw it.

Just ahead, near the edge of the clearing, something moved.

Not a beast.

Not a student.

A shadow.

It stood tall—humanoid in shape, but faceless.

Formed from something between smoke and steel, its limbs were vague, its body devoid of color. The outline shimmered, flickering like it was caught between worlds—real and unreal at the same time.

It held no weapon.

But it mimicked him.

Exactly.

The same stance he’d just taken. The same angle of the strike. It repeated the motion again—shoulder twist, step forward, blade trajectory—perfect.

Silent.

Effortless.

Noel didn’t breathe.

’That’s... me.’

No. Not him.

’That’s how I’m supposed to move.’

The shadow shifted again, performing another motion he hadn’t made. A series of steps, cuts, feints—cleaner, sharper, faster.

Noel watched every frame like his life depended on it.

Because maybe it did.

’You’re not showing off, you little shit.’

And Revenant Fang, still warm in his hand, pulsed once.

Acknowledging.

The shadow didn’t wait.

It slid into the next sequence—four steps, a low feint, reverse pivot, upward cut. No flair. No wasted motion. Every shift of weight was exact.

Noel exhaled through his nose.

’Alright, fine. Let’s see what you’ve got.’

He adjusted his stance.

Right foot slightly forward. Left hand open. Blade low.

He followed the movement.

Step. Twist. Cut.

Too shallow.

Again.

Step. Twist. Cut.

Closer.

The shadow kept going. Every time Noel caught up, it changed. Adapting. Raising the bar without a word.

His muscles burned after five minutes. His breathing sharpened. Sweat crept down his spine despite the cold night air.

But he didn’t stop.

’This is insane.’

’I’m mimicking a damn ghost in the woods with a sword that just woke up like it has a soul.’

He caught his breath, barely.

Then grinned.

’And it’s working.’

He swung again—harder, cleaner.

The shadow mirrored him for a split second.

Then vanished.

Not in warning.

In approval.

The clearing went still again.

Noel stood in the dark, chest rising with slow, satisfied breaths.

’Okay... this changes everything.’

Noel sat on a flat rock near the edge of the cliff.

Below him, the Hollow breathed in silence—mist curling around stone, mana humming low like distant thunder. The blood on his gloves had dried. His muscles ached, but it was the kind of pain that meant progress.

Revenant Fang rested across his knees.

He stared at the blade, fingers brushing the spine.

It didn’t glow. Didn’t hum.

But it felt different now.

Grounded. Watching.

Waiting.

’You’ve changed.’

’And I’m not sure what that means yet, but I honestly like it, hehehehe.’

He stayed there, still and alone, until the cold bit through his coat.

The blade was silent.

But the air around it wasn’t empty.

’Alright.’

’Let’s keep going.’

He stood.

Sheathed the sword.

And disappeared into the night, ready for whatever came next.

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